


To Finish Our Story

by tommigirl



Category: king of devil's island, kongen av bastøy
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Ending, Deviates From Canon, M/M, Post-Canon, Work In Progress, king of devil's island - Freeform, kongen av bastøy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommigirl/pseuds/tommigirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an alternate ending for the Norwegian film, "King of Devil's Island," or "Kongen av Bastøy." Spoiler alert if you haven't seen it: in the actual film, Erling dies after having fallen through the ice covering the fjord between the island and the mainland. It was basically the 90's Titanic ending all over again. Not satisfied with this, and also taking into account the not-so-platonic undertones in Erling and Olav's relationship, this alternate ending/epilogue was born last night. It's a work in progress, I'm not sure how many chapters it will have. I'm also planning on writing some time-stamps that take place during the timeline of the film.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Finish Our Story

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: the original plan was to write more...and I had posted a partial 2nd chapter. I haven't touched this in to long and I feel bad, so I just put the 2nd chapter in with the first and we'll call it a one shot unless I somehow get motivation to write more in the future.

They had made it this far. Together they had beaten and driven off the guards, as well as Bårthen and Governor. Snuck past the foot soldiers, sadly losing Øystein to them in the process. Erling had carried Olav halfway across the fjord, and now, so close to freedom, was this how it was going to end?  
  
“Those letters were for my sister,” Erling said gently, urgently, looking at Olav with a resigned sadness. Olav’s left hand was clutched in Erling’s coat, his right clinging desperately to Erling’s soaked, rapidly freezing arm. Erling had fallen through the ice, and after a brief struggle realized he was rapidly growing too numb to get himself out, the ice too slippery.  
  
“Olav, let me go... let me go.” Olav’s face twisted at the words, and something broke inside him.

For years, all he had dreamed about and worked for, was getting off of Bastøyn with a glowing recommendation from the Governor. Starting fresh. That is, until several months before Erling had even come. He had begun to doubt himself. Olav had been at Bastøyn for all of his adolescence, and before that, he had not had a proper upbringing or education. All of his fears about himself and the man he had become were summed up in the gutting words of the Governor, only days ago: “Anything that is good in you is there because I created it.”  
  
He had been terrified that without the strictness of Bastøyn, without the rules and the clear cut expectations, a rigid path set out before him, he would falter and fail, ultimately ending up in prison, or homeless and destitute. Just a traveling good-for-naught, undesirable for employment and shunned by all good, god-fearing folk.  
Until this headstrong, confident, proud sailor was sentenced to the island, and began challenging everything Olav had come to accept and believe. Stirring things up inside him that he didn’t understand and couldn’t explain. Making him braver and bolder and helping him realize that he had the strength to fight.  
  
On top of that, they had drawn toward each other, gravitating together, getting closer every day. The depth and strength of their bond and affection for each other was something neither of them had ever experienced before.  
“We never got to finish the story,” he had said to Erling, the day he was set to leave Bastøyn. All he knew was that he wanted the chance to be by Erling’s side for the rest of his life, and damn him, DAMN HIM, he wasn’t going to allow this pigheaded fool to breath his last here and now, halfway to freedom in the middle of this godforsaken fjord.  
  
Erling’s vision was blurring, but he saw a shift in his friend’s eyes, from panic and despair, to intimidating resolve.  
  
“NO,” Olav rasped out, and grabbed Erling by the neck of his coat collar. Exhausted and pushing through the pain of his leg, Olav threw every last bit of strength he had into pulling Erling up. He scrabbled backwards, kicking icy snow underneath him as he went. Erling’s torso came up over the edge, and Olav redoubled his effort, letting out a wild cry as Erling’s legs came free of the water.  
  
Gasping and shaking with exhaustion and cold, Olav crawled over to Erling, desperately checking him for a sign that he was still breathing. He was barely conscious.  
  
“Erling! Do you hear me? You have to stay with me! I am not letting you go, not now, not ever, do you understand? You are not allowed to leave now! Stay with me! I know how god damn stubborn you are, so you stay stubborn and you stay alive, do you hear me?”  
  
While he was still speaking to him he had heaved the nearly catatonic Erling to his feet and was supporting him on the side of his good leg. Olav stopped to scan the area.  
They were alone. There was still at least a mile of ice to cross before making land, and after that they could be many miles until they came across a farm or anything of the like where they might find shelter and a fire. Erling was in immediate danger of dying of hypothermia in minutes, and they could potentially be days from help. Anguish sunk into his gut like lead. They were both going to die, here on the ice.  
  
Except. Was that smoke?  
  
Yes, yes, that was smoke, perhaps 100 meters away, curling out of a small structure on the ice. An ice fisherman.  
  
It was sheer adrenaline that got them both to that tiny cabin, which was no more than a miniature shed set on runners. The fisherman must pull it from place to place on the ice, fishing for a living.  
  
The boys fell onto the small door, making a horrible racket and startling the inhabitant.  
  
“Fӕn!” A gruff voice shouted. The door was yanked inward, and two very cold, very nearly dead boys collapsed onto a confused Ms Landvik. She had been fishing these fjords her whole life and was not accustomed to hypothermic strangers stumbling to her door.  
  
She sighed heavily. This was going to be an interesting couple of days.

  
~~~  


The first thing that floated into his awareness was a voice. It was a nice voice. He knew he loved that voice, but he didn't know why. As the voice wove gentle, steady patterns in his otherwise dark, murky mind, he knew he needed to remember. The owner of that voice was important. But he was so tired. He must have always existed like this, just a slight consciousness, bodiless and drifting in a wide black void. But if he was only a conscious entity, why did he suddenly hurt so bad?  
"Ahh-!" Erling gasped, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut and clenching his fists in pain. The next sensations his brain registered at the same time- that he was lying naked between at least two plush reindeer hides, and that there was a warm hand on his face gently coaxing his head back down to the furs under it.  
"Shhh, hey, shhh, steady goes. Steady goes. You're going to be alright. We were almost dead, but Erma saved us. You are mildly frost bitten, hands and feet, not permanently. But it does hurt like hell when they start coming back to life again."  
Olav spoke to him in that blessed calm voice of his, and Erling settled. It also helped that Olav was gently stroking the side of his face continuously, and Erling didn't want to say anything at all, lest it make Olav realize what he was doing, and stop.  
The sun had sunk, and risen, and sunk again before Erling had gasped awake, just as dawn had broken on that desolate fjord. Olav had been up and about for half the previous day, and had risen early when Erma did.  
Erling struggled to open his eyes, blinking them heavily and trying to will them to focus. Eventually Olav's face became clear, and he stared into those blue-gray eyes he'd thought he wasn't going to live to see again. Olav's brow was pinched in worry or pain, or perhaps both. A small, barely detectable smile lifted the corners of his mouth. They had done it. They had escaped. They were free. At least for now. They would have to be smart and stealthy if they were to keep it that way. But for now, they could rest.  
"Hei, Olav." he croaked out.  
"Hei, Erling." and all at once Olav's face was alight, a triumphant smile so pure and hopeful that it would have made Erling want to lie down if he hadn't been there already. It felt as if they were in a dream. And he really must be dreaming, because Olav was leaning forward, the hand that had been stroking his cheek was now cupping it, and he kept direct eye contact until the last moment. Olav's eyes closed as he tipped his head down, covering Erling's lips with his own, pressing into them, gentle as the early morning sun.  


Erling's lips were so cold, he felt as though Olav's kiss must be something akin to kissing the sun itself. His eyes fell shut, and as small as the hut they were in was, the world narrowed even more. All that seemed to exist was the burning press of Olav's lips against his own, Olav's warm hands cradling his face, the soft exhale of his lungs as Erling weakly pressed his lips back. His gut swooped out from under him, which seemed ridiculous, since he was lying flat on his back, and he felt completely overwhelmed. He had never known such a feeling. Hunting whales, battling the sea, pushing himself to the limits, those were things that made his flesh and bone come alive. Made his tendons and sinews sing and his lungs feel like he could breathe in twice the air he normally could.  
But kissing Olav. Kissing Olav was splintering his soul in the most euphoric way. Sending shafts of light into corners of himself he hadn't been aware of before. It was bewildering.  
Too soon, Olav pulled back, and Erling lifted his eyes to meet his.  
"Kjære Erling, du er den modigste mann jeg vet..." Olav whispered (Dear Erling, you are the bravest man I know). Despite the cold, Erling could feel a pleased blush rising from his chest up to his cheeks.  
Heavy footsteps approached the hut, Erma entering soon after. The fisherwoman ducked her broad shoulders inside the door just after Olav sat back to a respectable distance.  


"God morgen, fish-boy. Are you feeling more alive today?"


End file.
